


Mourning Coffee

by StarryAry



Series: SHINGEKI NO IDIOSYNCRASIES [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breakfast, Graphic depictions of Food, Oneshot, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryAry/pseuds/StarryAry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We follow Jean through his morning routine.<br/>This is what makes Jean who he is.<br/>But for the last month it's all he can do.</p>
<p>I kind of wrote this as freeform poetry, but it's actually a narrative.</p>
<p>Also, bacon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> There are things I could have tagged, but have chosen not to for reasons. This story is not really for the weak-stomached.

It's still dark when the screech of the alarm clock frightens Jean into consciousness.  
6 AM.  
If he wants to make it to class on time he has to get up now.  
Whatever possessed him to pick early classes, Jean doesn't know.

“Good morning, Marco.” Jean mutters as he sits up and stretches.  
There's a lot to get done in the hour before he must leave, so Jean pads out to the kitchen.

Jean is a man of ritual.  
Gets up at the same time.  
Every day.  
Eats the same breakfast.  
Every day.  
Drinks the same coffee.  
Every day.

Jean opens the basic white refrigerator and pulls out everything he needs.  
Two Eggs,  
Milk,  
Three strips of bacon,  
And a slice of bread from the bag on the counter.

His only pan always just sits on the stove, same with his only pot.  
He picks it up and twirls it once before clicking on the stove.  
Sets the fire just right,  
Twirls the pan again,  
Sets it on the flame,  
And throws on the bacon.

While the bacon cooks, Jean pulls the pouch of coffee out of the cupboard.  
“Hey Marco,” Jean calls out,  
“I'm going to put on a pot of Amaretto on, 'cause it's your favourite.”

Jean opens the small bag and spoons an exact amount into the coffee maker.  
Then adds just enough water for a single cup.  
Plugs the machine in,  
Flips the switch on,  
Then tends to his bacon.

He puts the slice of bread in the toaster,  
Plugs that in,  
Pulls down the lever,  
Gets a plate, a bowl, a fork,  
And his favourite coffee mug (the one Marco got him for his birthday) from the dish drainer.

The two eggs are cracked into the bowl.  
A splash of milk is added.  
The milk is put away.  
And he whips the eggs into a light yellow fluff.

The bacon is crispy, but not burnt.  
Exactly as Marco likes it.  
Jean plates it, and pours the eggs into the bacon-greased pan.

The toast pops up,  
Jean plates that too,  
And unplugs the toaster.

The coffee is nearly done,  
It finishes about the same time as the omelette,  
Every morning,  
(Except when the bacon is too thin or not very fatty,  
Then the omelette finishes first,)  
So while he's waiting he washes and dries the fork.

Just on time, the eggs are done.  
He folds them and plates them along side the bacon and toast.

He pours the coffee into the mug,  
And pours in some sugar by sight.

Jean doesn't like his coffee dark,  
So he takes his fork, his plate of food, and his mug to the dining room.  
In the middle of Marco's dinette there's a tureen,  
Surrounded by candles,  
And Jean's favourite picture of him and Marco.

He lifted the lid on the tureen,  
And spoons the powder into his mug.  
Just one scoop,  
Jean does this every day,  
And deep, deep down he knows it won't be able to last forever.

He mixes the coffee with the spoon,  
And takes a sniff of the coffee.

Jean always gets a little somber at this part of breakfast.  
He takes a sip of the coffee,  
And rolls it over his tongue.  
Appreciates the taste of almonds,  
The sweet of the sugar,  
And the flat sulfury-sandy taste that he's recently gown so fond of.

He swallows it, and picks up his fork to eat.  
Bacon,  
Coffee,  
Egg,  
Coffee,  
Bacon,  
Coffee,  
Toast,  
The rest of the egg,  
The last piece of bacon,  
and the remainder of his coffee.

“The first day we parted, I was alone.  
The second day I was scared,  
The third day I finally cried,  
The fourth day I spent mourning,  
The fifth day you came home to me.  
The sixth day we were together again.  
Day after day,  
You have become me, Marco,  
And I have become you.  
It's the thirty-sixth day, and I love you more than ever.  
More than I ever have, Marco.”  
Jean recited as he stared at the bottom of his empty mug.

If _they_ knew what Jean was doing,  
They would take Marco away.  
If Eren and Mikasa had known,  
They would have paid to put Marco somewhere safe,  
Somewhere permanent.  
They wouldn't have let Jean keep him.

But there was know way for them to have known,  
That Marco's ashes weren't safe with Jean.  
They weren't safe in the hands of the man that loved him the most.

Before much longer,  
Jean and Marco would really be together again.  
They would be one.

And maybe, just maybe,  
With Marco inside him,  
Jean would be able to move on.


End file.
